The Cripslock Enquiry
by SethCohenRocks-2009
Summary: There has been another murder, one that could change the entire world. Who is the blonde from Sherlock's past who saved them from Moriarty? And why does she care so much about Sherlock and this murder? Follows on from the last episode.
1. Chapter 1

The seconds that had passed seemed to be have been infinitely longer than what was considered usual. They were stuck at a stalemate, with neither Sherlock nor Moriarty moving. They both knew it was unlikely that they'd leave the swimming baths alive that night. Sherlock's hand still gripping the gun pointed at the duffel coat bomb, one little pull of the finger and they'd all be blasted to smithereens. Jim certainly knew how to source effective explosives, Sherlock would give him that. He glanced up at the clock, he needed more time. Sherlock was going to have to wait till the latest possible moment; the snipers' marks still clustered across his and John's bodies, he was only going to have one shot.

Sherlock was still as cool and collected as ever he was in the face of his imminent destruction; while John's heart was racing, looking back and forth between the two great minds. He could almost see the cogs of their brains clicking into place as they formulated and then discarded ideas of how to escape this dire situation with their own life still intact. John could feel the beads of sweat running down his face but he did not wipe them away, scared that any movement would set either Moriarty or Sherlock off. In moments like these John though of his family; his parents had died not long after he had left for Afghanistan, a car crash. He only had Harry left now. True he was still angry about her leaving Clara but she was his sister and he no matter what happened he would always care for deeply. Sarah… he was never going to be able to apologise properly about everything. She was never going to know, she would just hear about his blown up body on the news.

John doubted deeply that Sherlock as thinking of his family; Mycroft, the mother he had mentioned, was his father still alive? John once again realised how little he knew about the man who had dragged him into this world. Did Sherlock have any friends who would cry at his funeral, any ex-girlfriends or boyfriends for that matter who would lay flowers on his grave?

John was right; it was not thoughts like those that filled Sherlock's head. His mind that was forever formulating or deducting was doing so even in what may be his final moments. The cogs still trying to click into place, to find a way to stop Moriarty. Without, if possible, his and John's lives being forfeit.

"One question." asked Sherlock. "One single question." His eyes not faltering from the duffel coat. "Who were you to him?" It took John a few seconds to connect the dots, Sherlock was asking about what was most likely the first blood on Moriatry's now filthy stained hands. Sherlock Holmes even in the most deadly of circumstance could not let something go. Not something that eluded him, not something that may have stopped the game before those people had died. "Who were you to him?" he asked once again; his voice still incredibly steady and precise, barely louder than a whisper. "Who were you to the boy you drowned?"

John turned to stare at Moriarty, who like his opponent was still completely collected. There was no appearance of him being nervous or concerned at all. It was almost as if this was still just a game to him; he hadn't cared at all about the lives he had destroyed while he played his next move, took his next step and waited for Sherlock to respond. He had enjoyed tormenting them, watching them squirm. "I was the boy in the swimming club, the slowest. The one they all laughed at."

John spoke up for the first time since Moriarty had returned, "I can't believe it. You killed a boy because he laughed at you." John knew Moriarty was mad but to kill someone for such a trivial reason.

Sherlock breathed deeply; almost sighing, "Little boys do stupid things. They ridicule each other and play stupid games." It was almost like Sherlock understood Moriarty's reason, almost. This silenced John; he guessed that Sherlock too had experienced his fair share of ridicule growing up; it wouldn't have been easy growing up that brilliant.

It seemed that Moriarty was getting a tad impatient; he had expected this whole affair to be wrapped up by now, "I'd say your goodbye's boys. As this is the final act." He was smiling eagerly; obviously he was going to enjoy their deaths. John turned to face Sherlock. It was then that Sherlock Holmes did something John had not been expecting. He winked. Dropping the gun, he let it clatter onto the pool side tiles but it did not fire. What was Sherlock playing at? This left John completely bewildered. He stared down at his own chest and saw the red marks from the snipers' guns. "Get ready to fire." Sneered Moriarty, "It has been a pleasure playing with you." John closed his eyes and prepared to die, the snipers wouldn't miss. It would be quick. Thirty seconds later and still he had not heard any shots fire. John opened his eyes slowly to see Sherlock smirking. He stared at his Sherlock's chest and watched as each single sniper's mark move to cluster all over Moriarty's body. Looking down at his chest, he realised the same had happened.

"What?" exclaimed Moriarty who had finally lost his cool and looked completely out of his comfort zone.

"I'd say more like who." came a voice from the shadows. John and Moriarty stared confused as the person to whom the voice did belong emerged. She was tall, easily as tall as Sherlock even without the black stiletto boots she was presently wearing. It was no surprise that she had not been previously seen, she was dressed entirely in black. A black jacket and a skirt that hit her leg a couple of inches above the knee. This allowed some pearly white flesh to be seen. Her hair was a honey blonde, fairly long falling over her shoulders. She did not carry a bag of any sort, unusually and she walked in a very confident manner.

"Took you long enough." quipped Sherlock not making eye contact, his eyes now scouring at Moriarty.

"I thought you wanted to ask your question. You would have complained if I'd come in earlier." she said tapping him on the cheek as she passed.

"Who are you?" asked Moriarty. The blonde continued walking towards him until she was close enough to see the whites of Jim Moriarty's eyes.

"I, Mr Moriarty, am what men like you meet in their nightmares and the one thing would didn't count on. And unless you'd like my boys up there to turn you into piece of Gruyere I'd run. I'd run now." She had a gleam in her eyes that him know that she was deadly serious and had no qualms with having his death on her hands. She slowly raised her arm, "When I drop my arm, they shoot." Her face remained straight; there was no evil smile or victorious smirk. "One… two…" She didn't even reach three as Moriarty turned and ran.

The blonde turned to face Sherlock and John. She pulled a blackberry out from within her jacket and held it up to the side of her face, "Keep an eye on JM. We still need more on his associates, tail him but give him a head start. I want daily updates and contact me immediately anything goes down. Send his men to…" She looked at Sherlock mouthing Lestrade. Sherlock nodded John looked on amazed. "Send them to Lestrade at Scotland Yard. I'm going to need a car out front, oh and a bomb disposal unit and actually bring me a towel and a complete change of clothes." she said glancing down at the memory stick lying at the bottom of the pool. She put her blackberry away.

"It's been too long Sherlock." she smiled.

"It certainly has. John sit down, you look like you are going to collapse."

"Shut." The blonde walked over to John, who certainly did look like he was going keel over. She held on to his shoulder, "John. I'm just going to put you under, you need to sleep." John nodded slowly as she stabbed his neck with a pen of sorts. She lay him down on the floor and then proceeded to walk back over to Sherlock, "Sorry sweetie but so do you." as Sherlock was stabbed from behind by one of her men. "Have them taken to 221 B Baker Street. They need to rest."

The last thing they saw as their world turned to black was their blonde now slightly blurry saviour strip down to her camisole and dive into the swimming pool with a splash.


	2. Chapter 2

AN- Sorry about the lack of updates. My computer hasn't been working of late. But now it seems to be working again so chapters should be coming up every week or so.

Thanks to

x-the bill-x

Star-light1990

SweetLilNothing

John's eyelids flicked open, although the world around him was still a tad blurry and unfocussed. He found that he was lying on the sofa at 221B Baker Street and even more surprisingly there was a waft of something that smelled edible coming from the kitchen.

He quickly sat up, how had he got here? The last thing he remembered was his and Sherlock's being at the swimming pool with Moriarty. He shook his head, he had experienced a lot of things in Afghanistan but never again did he want to have explosives strapped to his chest. For the first time, for even just a split second Sherlock had looked worried. Actually, where was Sherlock? He can't have been in the kitchen as it actually smelled pleasant, Sherlock in the kitchen generally consisted off chemicals and rotting flesh.

John stood up yawning and walked into the kitchen. He saw standing before the cooker the same blonde who had sent Moriarty running. She was no longer dressed in head to toe black but in a man's shirt, a pair of shorts and brown boots. However she looked no less intimidating even without, he assumed, her own private army. She turned her head; her blonde hair sweeping over her shoulder as she did so, "Oh, good. You're up. Coffee?" she lifted the percolator as she said it. John nodded once and slid into a seat at the table. She poured the coffee into an awaiting mug. She then placed the percolator back down on the table before turning back around to the cooker. Opening the oven door she pulled out a plate. The plate was then sat down in front of John. He looked down and upon the plate was a croissant and scrambled egg. John then looked back up.

"Who are you?"

The blonde smirked and raised her coffee mug to her lips but said nothing. She watched him as he somewhat nervously began to eat his scrambled egg. He look up at her, something was familiar about her.

"Is that Sherlock's shirt?"

She looked down at her shirt covered torso and smiled, "I suppose it was… once." This woman seemed to become even more of a mystery as time progressed.

"Who are you?" he asked once more.

"I'm Sherlock would love to tell you." she smiled.

John turned around to see his flat mate sitting in his armchair with his laptop on his knee. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Evelyn Knight although she prefers Evey. 28, one tattoo, went to Cambridge. Addicted to coffee, non smoker, plays piano. Just came back from Japan and has just broken up with her boyfriend, three days ago." Sherlock seemed as uninterested as usual but John was as amazed as always.

"What was it about her?" John asked.

Evey laughed and put her mug down, "How did you know about Jason?" She walked over and sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair. In reply Sherlock passed a blackberry phone into her hand. "Ah. Normally I'd be pissed off but considering you were nearly killed last night I'll let it slide."

John couldn't believe how incredibly calm this Evelyn Knight was being. She was just sitting, completely at home on Sherlock's chair's arm. Normally, other than Molly, women tended to stay away from Sherlock while she was only centimetres away. He realised that he didn't actually know why Evelyn was there, or even why she had come to save them the previous night.

Evey spoke to John without looking up from her blackberry; obviously reading an email, "Your eggs are getting cold John."

He looked at her still amazed, "Why are you here?"

She raised an eyebrow, "You know what Sherlock darling. It's almost like he doesn't want me to be here."Sherlock was unusually quiet; he looked up from his laptop screen momentarily, made eye contact with John and Evey before concentrating back on the screen.

Evey sighed and stood up. She walked over back into the kitchen and reached into a large brown leather bag. From within its linings she pulled out what appeared to be a legal document of some description. She lay the papers down beside John's plate and held a pen out towards him.

"What's this for?"

"It's a pen John. You're meant to use it to write with." said Sherlock still not looking up from the screen.

"I meant the papers." John rolled his eyes causing Sherlock to snort, even though John thought he couldn't see him.

Evey sat down on the chair that was to John's right, "You sign to agree that my organisation and I do not exist and that if you say otherwise you understand the actions that will be taken." All of a sudden Evey had turned from joking around to a woman of steel. Although there still was a twinkle in her eyes.

"Who exactly is your organisation?"

"It's safer if you don't know." smiled Evelyn Knight.

"Safer?"

"Just sign it John." sighed Sherlock. John reluctantly took the pen from Evey's outstretched hand. He flourished the pen, quickly signing his name at all the required places. He rested the pen upon the completed papers.

"Doesn't Sherlock have to sign?"

Evey raised an eyebrow in reply, "Hardly." She had a point John supposed, who would Sherlock tell. Sherlock rolled his eyes but Evey ignored him. She gathered up the papers, folding them up into her bag. Her hair created a screen, falling over her face as she bended over her bag.

She took a gulp of her coffee before placing her mug in the kitchen sink. Her blackberry buzzed in her hand; immediately she concentrated fully on the tiny screen, only taking a handful of seconds to read its contents. She placed it in her bag and zipped it up, "That's my signal to leave." Evey gathered up her bag and slipped on a long navy trench coat over her low key outfit.

Evey stuck out her hand towards John, "It's been nice to meet you John." John shook her hand still unsure exactly what to make of this mysterious blonde. She walked over to Sherlock and kissed him softly on the cheek, "A pleasure as always Sherlock." She stood back up straight and with a wave of her hand she was gone. John sat still on his chair not saying a word, shocked by her kissing Sherlock's cheek.

"Your eggs are getting cold." said an unmoved Sherlock. John stared down at his plate laden with food that as Sherlock and Evey had previously stated was rapidly cooling down. He began to fork the egg into his mouth; if there was only one thing he could say with absolute certainty about Evelyn Knight it was that she made excellent scrambled egg.

John didn't bother to ask Sherlock about Evelyn, if Sherlock didn't want to tell him then nothing John could do or say would change his mind. He preoccupied himself with reading the morning's copy of The Times while he finished off his breakfast. All this time Sherlock sat silently upon his chair as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the last 24 hours. Actually supposed John, this probably was normal for Sherlock, near death experiences featuring glamorous blondes were a daily happening for that high functioning sociopath.

Just as John was finishing off the last remnants of his meal Sherlock stood up, his phone in hand. "We're going out." Sherlock grabbed his signature coat and scarf off of one of the chairs where it had been carefully folded, obviously not by him.

"What! Already?" exclaimed John, "Not Moriarty?"

"Unlikely. Evey definitely scared him but I'll have to see the body."

By now Sherlock had on his coat and scarf and was almost out of the door, "Are you coming or not?" Sherlock had a wild gleam in his eyes, obviously raring for this next adventure. John on the other hand just wished he could live a normal life at times like these but considering he lived with Sherlock this was no longer a realistic prospect. Reluctantly he pulled on his jacket and followed Sherlock out of 221B Baker Street.

Half an hour later and John was thoroughly exhausted, Sherlock now refused to ride in taxis and thus they had had to run through London to get to the crime scene. As usual Sherlock was in no way tired and still had that mad look in his eyes, considering they hadn't even seen the body as of yet John thought this was a tad pre-emptive. Sally Donovan had greeted them with her usual distain, "Freak…, Doctor." She had walked them up the stairs to the door of the fourth floor flat. Donovan had opened the door for them with an evident look of disgust; she had no qualms with sharing her opinion on Sherlock. Sherlock raced into the flat with John hesitantly walking in behind him.

It was in the living room that they found Lestrade and Anderson hunched over the corpse. Sherlock was barely through the door when he spoke, "Out Anderson." Anderson looked at Lestrade who had an apologetic look upon his face but nodded all the same. Anderson stood up and stormed out of the room, carefully making sure to bump into Sherlock as he went. Sherlock paid no attention to this, his eyes stuck on the corpse that lay unmoved on the white carpet that was now stained with blood. "Christmas has come a week early." he smiled.


End file.
